Warmbloods: Save Rock and Roll
by NeonJackal214
Summary: Nick has been forced out of Zootopia by a set of dark and cruel laws passed by the new mayoress. Abandoned by all except his band, he has struggled to find his way in the new city, barely eking out a living playing with The Warmbloods. However, there is light in the depths of despair. The Warmbloods have never given up before this. They certainly aren't going to now.
1. Prologue

The Warmbloods: Save Rock and Roll

Prologue

I suppose that sometimes, we get what we deserve. Karma is a devious bastard, and takes no prisoners. More often than not, however, when life throws us a curveball, it comes in an unexpected form and often ends up messing up our entire system, our entire routine. Often, we get served a plate of hatred and bigotry that we don't deserve, and we're told over and over again to believe that we deserved what we got. It's drilled into our minds, a casting call for the new religion.

Sometimes, I have a hard time believing that I didn't deserve what I got. It often takes me a while to fully comprehend things, to actually see where everything went so wrong.

I suppose it started with her. _Mayoress Swinton._ Zootopia's pride and joy. She ran a campaign fueled by hate and old stereotypes. At the time, I was convinced that it would never work, that peace and love would win out. I was wrong, as I so often am. At the time of the election, only three months had passed since my band, The Warmbloods, released our last studio album. It had received critical acclaim, and had surpassed dozens of records easily. I was riding on a cloud.

Only two months prior to the election, or one month after the release of the album, Judy received a large announcement. We were working together, comrades in the blue uniform. I enjoyed police work, more than I can say. It was hard work, but it felt undeniably good to know that you were making a difference in the community. Plus, being a police officer meant that I didn't have to deal with the constant pressures of fame, which was a definite plus. Fame does bad things to mammals. Just ask Mayoress Swinton. Police work was my life, and I had left music- rock and roll- behind me. It was a sweet ending to a lengthy saga.

The announcement which Judy received came from our Police Chief Bogo. He had elected her for a special position, a six month training in a city far away from Zootopia. The training would allow her to become a special agent and undertake cases far more difficult than she was currently. In his words: "You'll be solving Night Howler Cases every other day."

It was a big step, one which only Bogo could have made her take. She talked about it to me, saying that she didn't want to leave, but I could see that her heart was elsewhere. I wanted her to be happy, so I told her to do it. On the day she left for Gnu York City (the site of the training,) she decided that we needed to put our relationship on hiatus. I was stunned, and unquestionably angry. However, I also knew it wasn't a breakup. Long distance relationships are hard, and it was probably the right choice. She had told me that we would MuzzleTime every night and just pick up where we had left off when she got back. It sounded, as painful as it was, like it would work. I agreed to it.

One month after Judy left, the campaigning for Mayor of Zootopia kicked into high gear. Both candidates- Swinton and a tiger who's name I can barely pronounce- announced their platforms and explained what they would do if elected. I saw Swinton's platform and almost threw up in my mouth. Her entire campaign was based on hate. Specifically, she went after the two groups which she could deflect the most hate onto easily- interspecies couples and predators who had been previously convicted of a crime, sentenced, and had completed their sentencing. Among her most prominent ideas was the dream of a set of laws which she called "The Perfect Trifecta." The idea comprised a set of three laws. Hidden in their backgrounds were the following basic rules:

\- Interspecies couples may not adopt children.

\- Previously Convicted Predators will be considered for shock collars.

\- Previously Convicted Predators will undergo _job inspections_ by which the state of their wellbeing may be determined and their fitness to do their jobs assessed. (In other words- they spy on you while you work and give you a surprise firing.)

On one particularly bad night, I ranted to Judy about the laws. She was sympathetic, but explained that she thought I was wrong. Those laws would never pass, and the laws about Previously Convicted Predators had some fair points. I don't exactly remember why I started yelling. I did. She did too. Then she told me that she wanted me to never talk to her again. To leave her alone. Then she hung up on me.

One month later, things got really bad.

I hadn't talked to Judy in a month. I was becoming angrier and angrier. Swinton got elected by a landslide, absolutely crushing the competition. One week after that, all three of the "Perfect Trifecta" laws passed by an even larger landslide. I was disgusted.

Then the attacks started.

An enormous spree of hate crimes spread across the city like wildfire in the days following the passing of the "Perfect Trifecta" laws. Attacks mostly against predators, which should have been expected. I was more concerned about myself. At one point, I had been convicted for petty theft. I was going to have to wear a shock collar. I was going to lose my job. Chief Bogo was fairly cool about it, and promised me that he wouldn't let that happen. I believed him. At midnight, precisely eighteen days after Mayoress Swinton's election, I received a call. My cousin and his wife had been killed in a hate attack. They were 24 and 29, respectively.

I should clear something up- my cousin was at risk. He was a red fox, and was in an interspecies relationship. Like me. Unlike me, however, he wasn't a cop. So when the murderers came knocking, he couldn't do jack shit about it.

The person on the phone explained to me that he had left a will. It made me sick to my stomach to know that. He understood, better than anyone else, that he might die. The will bequeathed my cousin's stepson into my care. Maxwell Johnson-Wilde was just one year old. The will informed me that I had to keep the kit for at least one week, and then I could opt to send him to Cub Protective Services. I agreed instantly.

One day after the cub appeared at my doorstep, I received a call. Two police officers from a different precinct arrived, and delivered what I would later realize was the final blow. They informed me that I was in an interspecies relationship, and that I was in control of a kit. I was "tainting" his brain. Thus, under the new laws, I would have to give him up into foster care, pay an obscenely large fine, and would be fired from my job. If I did not agree to those terms, I would be evicted from the city "until further notice."

"Evicted from the city" sounds insane, until you realize that upon her arrival in office, Swinton created a city-wide restraining order. I would be barred from contacting anyone on a list which would be given to me, and I could not enter the city or else I would face legal action.

I don't honestly understand why I chose to fight. I never fought hard in my life. I took the path of least resistance, and it generally worked out for me. But this time, something just blew up inside of me. I couldn't take this. I was going to get this kit out of here, if I had to do die doing it. I wasn't going to give him up into the hell that was foster care.

I called Finnick, I called Henry, I called James. I explained what had happened. They were at my side within the hour. I had twenty four hours to get out.

"We're coming with you." Finnick had said.

"Where to?" I was crying, tears of anger, the small artic fox kit- all that was left of my cousin's legacy- screaming in my arms. "We have nowhere to go."

"We'll figure it out." Henry comforted. I didn't believe him. We loaded the guitars and drum kit into Finnick's van. I called my mom, explained what had happened. I called Bogo, told him to not expect me into work soon. And then we left.

For most mammals, that would be it. The world had proven to me again and again over the course of those four months that it didn't want me. I was scum, cursed to be whatever they told me I was. I hated that, hated it more than I can say. I was lost, adrift at sea. I clutched out as turmoil was all around me, desperate to find something to keep me sane.

I found music.

We ended up in Chipawgo. It's pretty much the music capitol of the world, an endless melting pot of different genres and styles. Almost no one survives trying to make it as a musician in Chipawgo. There's so many people trying to do it, only a few ever get good. I don't know how we did what we did. Sometimes, when I think back on it as I do now, certain memories stand out at me.

 _Eating Ramen for two weeks._

 _Sacrificing my own meals so that the kit could eat._

 _Buying two one bedroom apartments and splitting them between the five of us._

 _Playing a show every other night just to pay the rent._

 _Going hungry and without power._

 _Not having hot water to the showers._

 _Playing on blown out speakers in dingy bars._

 _The anger._

I'm still angry. But I'm less angry now. Chipawgo is about to give us our shot, our chance to make a name for ourselves and become not just a little band, popular only in Zootopia and the surrounding region, but international superstars. Yesterday, I got a call telling me that a report came out, detailing what Swinton did to me. I don't know what's going to happen.

 _No, no. Wherever I go, go. Trouble seems to follow. I only plugged in to-_

I remember that song lyric. It always seems to help me, even in my darkest hour. We came back from the edge of the abyss. We can do anything. We're the Warmbloods.

…

I open my eyes. The peeling paint on the roof of the apartment does little to distract from the implications that come crashing down on me.

 _One week. There's one week until the festival._

I sit up in bed, knowing I'm not going to go to sleep again. I hear the heavy breaths coming from below me. James sleeps on the floor, having refused to take the bed tonight. There's a spare mattress down there which makes the small apartment around me feel even more cramped. My calloused paw finds the small, cheap, faux-gold locket with the picture of Judy which I keep, hanging around the neck of my candy apple red Fender Stratomouser. She probably doesn't even remember me. Probably hates me for running away. Maybe the report will change things, but I haven't seen what it looks like yet. I pop the locket open and stare at the picture for a full thirty seconds.

Max looks at me from inside of his crib. I stand up, giving him a faint smile.

"Come on, bud. Let's get ready. We've got a long few days ahead of us."

 _Save_

 _Rock_

 _And_

 _Roll._

 **A/N: This may be a fairly short story. It might even end here, depending on whether or not you guys want to read more. It will also take second priority to "The Road Trip" for about a week, but then that one will be complete and this one will be top priority. I'm interested to hear what you think. Thank you for reading. Stay chill.**

 **NJ**


	2. Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

Chapter One: Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

As a matter of principle, I hate routine. I hate the idea that every day should be the same, that every day should be created the same way and effectively done and performed in a way identical to the day before it. I hate falling into a pit of normalcy. However, to some degree, my daily life had fallen into a form of routine. I hated it, but at least it was a routine I was okay with.

Just as I had done every morning for the past four months, I grabbed Max from his crib and tossed him over my shoulders. Carefully, I crept over James's slumbering form on the floor and out the apartment door. I slipped the door shut and walked out to the street where I stand for a second. Finally, I breathe in and walk out onto the streets, navigating my way through the unkempt neighborhood.

The apartment building is one of four, all of which are totally identical. There is no way to tell the difference between the buildings. Each one exactly twenty stories, brick, dilapidated, and with overflowing dumpsters outside, covered in graffiti. For a while, I would actually go into the wrong building. It took me a while to figure out this city. I suppose, however, that I should have seen that coming from a mile away.

Chipawgo is unlike Zootopia in every way. Zootopia is essentially a giant city, divided into four equal portions which have shockingly different temperatures and climates. This way, it can house all sorts of animals. Chipawgo is called "The Flower City." This is because the town itself is shaped like a giant flower. Eight lines of train tracks act as the stem, carrying passengers into the city over a giant lake. The center of the flower is the downtown, almost thirty miles across and containing some of the world's tallest skyscrapers. Downtown is home to a variety of things which have the honor of being called "the largest." It has the largest center of business in the world, the largest university in the world, the largest library in the world, et cetera. On the edges of the center of the flower are great walls of "weather generators" which completely encircle the city. Branching out from the center are five oblong petals, each encircled by the generators (as in Zootopia) to give them a unique environment. Named "burrows", these petals have five separate climates:

Burrow One: Savannah

Burrow Two: Tropical

Burrow Three: Tundra

Burrow Four: Desert

Burrow Five: Mountainous

The mountainous burrow is the prettiest, but I haven't had much of an excuse to go there before. The burrows each function as their own separate city, despite technically being connected to Chipawgo. It's a fascinating system.

I make my way down the deserted streets, Max on my shoulders. I'm wearing nothing more than a faded "World's Okayest Lead Singer" t-shirt, cargo shorts, and my ratty sneakers. I haven't gotten a second pair of sneakers since I left Zootopia. These were once clean white, but are now covered in scribbles, a swirling design of black imagery, surrounding a single emblem of a fox in a gas mask done in gold marker. The soles are coming out. I make a note to buy new shoes as soon as possible.

The best donut store in the city is the oft overlooked Crazy Dave's (In)famous Donuts. While the "store" itself is no more than a hole in the wall about a mile and a half away from the apartment building, the donuts there are the best. I make a pilgrimage there every morning, and always get the same thing. Crazy Dave makes normal donuts, but one of his specialties is called a "mango-pineapple" donut with chili powder. It's like five or six bites of heaven. I also get Crazy Dave to make me a cappuccino. There's no way to make a cappuccino wrong. It's basically just milk and coffee, no way to mess that up.

When I reach the stand this morning, Dave seems thoroughly engrossed in something that he's reading. Dave is a lemur, and his eyes are bigger than the donuts which he makes. As I approach, he looks up from what he's reading, smiles wickedly, and displays the cover of what he's reading. I groan loudly. It's the report.

Yesterday, a report came out, made by the largest international news source on the planet- Mammal Times. The report was almost fifty pages long, and contained a comprehensive explanation of why The Warmbloods left Zootopia. Now, to be fair to Mammal Times, other news outlets had been guessing at this for a long time. However, most simply assumed we wanted to make more money, and so we had left to try to become international superstars here. The report made by Mammal Times, however, was far more in depth than anything that had been done in the past, and almost all of it was correct. I read the whole article last night, and there was only one mistake, and it was the amount of money on the fine. It was large enough to be shocking, but they reduced it by about a fifth of what it actually was.

"Your donuts free today, my friend." Dave speaks in a thick accent. I'm not sure what country he's from, I just happen to know that he moved here only recently.

"You don't have to do that." I say with a sigh. "Let me pay you."

"You have endured much, come on a great journey." The lemur smiles at me, his large eyes making him look quite crazy (get it?).

"Dude, it's less than five bucks. Let me pay you." I says slowly.

"Free!" Dave shouts. "End of discussion. Cappuccino, no?"

"I suppose." I say. When his back is turned as he goes to grab the milk for the coffee, I drop a twenty dollar bill into his tip jar. Dave, oblivious to this fact, goes about mixing and pouring, steaming the milk and pouring it into the espresso. He looks over at me he grinds the coffee beans.

"You will show that mayoress." He says confidently.

"Can't exactly do that when I live in another city and can't go back."

"You show her…" He gives another devious smile. "Through the music, no? Through the Festival!" He gestures above my head. I don't have to turn to know what he's pointing at: a billboard which sits behind me and in direct view of his shop. I've seen billboards and signs like that all over the city. I've got the caption memorized by now.

 **CARNIVAL OF LIGHTS: THE CHIPAWGO INTERNATIONAL MUSIC FEST**

 **TWO DAYS ONLY!**

 **DAY ONE HEADLINER: GAZELLE**

 **DAY TWO HEADLINER: THE WARMBLOODS**

The Chipawgo International Music Festival, also known as the Carnival of Lights fest. Just thinking about it gives me chest pains. The biggest music festival of it's kind in the world. There are two days. The first day highlights huge megastars that are famous across the world- Gazelle, for instance. The second day is for bands who want to become big internationally, who need a place to showcase their music. Headlining the second day is one of the biggest honors any band with virtually no international fan base can get. And somehow, that honor has fallen to us.

We were big in Zootopia, yes. Zootopia, however, is a unique case in that you can be gigantic there and be completely unknown in the rest of the world. Not so in Chipawgo. This city is a melting, bubbling cesspool of music and culture. It's the heart of the musical world. If you make it big here, you get big everywhere. The problem is, almost nobody can do it. Especially if your one chance to make a living- to make a difference- is going to come from one giant show. If you bomb a headlining gig at the Carnival of Lights, your career is over.

No pressure, though.

I sigh, and give a tight smile. "You honestly think she's going to notice that? She's a politician. Her entire job is to put a spin on things so they don't look as bad."

"Is that not lying?"

"Well, it's like professional lying."

"She will notice." He shakes his head, and his bulbous eyes shine eerily. "Music is a force which should not be reckoned with."

I look at him for a long time. For a second, I want to believe he's right. I know for a fact that the report which he holds in his hand is going to get spread all over Zootopia. Everyone is going to be able to see it. For a second, I wonder if anyone will care. Probably not. Most will have already forgotten me. I know I would've forgotten.

"Thanks, Dave."

"No problem." He smiles toothily. He's a happy lemur. "You will rock hard today, yes?"

"Definitely."

"Good." He smiles. "Here are your two donuts, free as promised."

I eat the donuts, still warm, with Max as we watch the sun come up. It's going to be a long few days, I have no doubt about that. I'll be okay. I've dealt with worse.

I make it back to the building by about ten in the morning. Max is beginning to look fairly sleepy, so I put him in his crib before I go to breakfast. James is up, making breakfast in Finnick and Henry's apartment, which is across the hall from ours. It's the only one that has a kitchen, so we figured that they could share it with us. Combined, we as a band own a total of five rooms. Two bathrooms, two bedrooms, and a kitchen. Finnick and Henry are seated at a drafting table we use to eat on, next to a red fox with sleek fur and dark brown eyes that's on the phone, discussing something which sounds official and tedious.

"Nicky!" Finnick shouts. "Sleep okay?"

"Like a rock." I deadpan. I don't sleep very well these days.

Henry smirks. "You should try sleeping across from this one." He glances at Finnick. "He air drums in his sleep."

"One time!" Finnick cries defensively.

The red fox hangs up the phone, and stretches luxuriously. She's quite pretty, even when she's tired like this. I know for a fact that she was probably up for hours last night just working. Her eyes are weary, but still convey that she would willingly kill me for a bite of my donut. I take the second donut and hand it to her. She takes it with a smile.

"Who was it?" I ask.

"The host of 'No Chill.'" She says. "No Chill" is a talk show which is absolutely huge in Chipawgo, and is pretty popular in other regions of the world as well. "They want you to appear on the show tomorrow night."

"Great! Can I wear a dope pocket square?" Finnick asks.

"I would almost encourage it." Erica shrugs.

"Not the one embroidered with tiny dollar signs, Finnick." I warn.

"Party pooper." He mutters grouchily. I smirk, turning back to Erica.

"Anything you want us to avoid answering?" I ask.

"I would say that if they ask you anything about specific identities of old friends or family in Zootopia, you should balk. Anything else is fair game if they ask it." She takes a bite of the donut. "Mmm. Good."

"Same rules as always, then?" I comment.

"They're going to ask about the report, there's no way to get around that." She shrugs. "You're just going to have to answer those questions."

"Fantastic." I mutter.

"You're also going to need to go shopping." She says, pulling out her phone again.

"Why?"

"You need a nice suit. You need to look like you're the lead singer of a serious band, which you are."

"I'm not a rock star."

"You are now, Nick. So you better be prepared to look like one and talk like one."

I sigh bitterly, and turn back to Henry and Finnick. James has seated himself next to Henry.

"You guys want to go practice?" I ask.

"A little early, but that never hurt anyone. Let's go." Finnick gives a small nod.

I stand from my spot at the table and leave the room, heading across the hall to my apartment. Max is asleep in the crib, so I decide to leave him. I grab my earplugs and my guitar, as well as two picks. When we got the gig, I used some of the money which we got for signing on to play the festival to get a little engraving done on the guitar. My Stratomouser is great, and I've always done designs on it using permanent marker. There's an image of a paw holding a hypodermic needle, and the pickguard has a white fox in a gas mask on it. However, the engraving which I had done this time is different. I had a silver-grey carrot, tipped black with violet leaves, painted onto the head of the guitar.

 _As my memory rests, but never forgets what I lost. Wake me up when September ends._

I sling the guitar over my shoulder and head downstairs to the basement. I glance down at my paws. In the dim light from the nearly burned out bulbs, I can see the tiny scars which crisscross the pads on my fingers. My paws are blistered. Someone once told me that you could tell a lot about someone by their paws. If they were to see my paws now, they would have thought I was broken and blistered too. They wouldn't have been wrong.

The landlord of the building let us convert the basement into a practice room, complete with soundproofing and amps. A giant poster for the Carnival of Lights hangs on one wall. Erica has earplugs in and is writing while sitting on one of the amps. I plug my guitar in and test it. Loud, distorted, and in tune. Perfect.

"What do you want to play?" I ask.

"Well, we should be practicing for the festival." Finnick says from his seat at the drums.

"Granted." James says. "We could warm up with _Raspberry Beret,_ go into _Nuclear Family_ , and then play the actual serious songs that are going to be the crowd pleasers."

" _Foxes of Suburbia, When Doves Cry, ZP-Devotee, Nine in the Afternoon,_ and _Alarm Clock?"_ Henry asks.

"Those." I say, pointing my hand, pick grasped tightly, at him. "I like those."

"Alrighty, then." Finnick shrugs. "You all know what we're doing today?"

"Save rock and roll." We chorus. It started as a joke, but now it's a motto, a mantra. We're going to make it, and the world can suck it up and deal with it.

"1,2,3,4!" Finnick counts off. We start playing together, and it's the best feeling in the world. I love music. It's got such a mind of it's own, such a strange force that it can keep all to itself.

" _I was workin part time at a five and dime- my boss was Mr. McGee. He told me several times that he didn't like my kind, 'cause I was a bit too sly, you see. Seems that I was busy doing something close to nothing, but different than the day before."_ Breathe in, breathe out. Keep singing. " _That's when I saw her, ooh, I saw her. She walked through the out door, out door."_ The chorus comes in hard. I've been pushing my voice to the limits for months, and it's paying off. " _She wore a raspberry beret! The kind you find in a second hand store!"_

Erica is dancing, and I have to smile. Finnick is shaking his head slightly at my vocal improvisations. Henry seems to have tuned us all out. I suppose that this is what I'm meant to be doing. I see the carrot at the head of my guitar, and I feel another wash of melancholy. I'll see her again. If it kills me, I have to tell her how sorry I am. I have to see her. I can wait. I waited nine months at one point. I'm a Warmblood. I don't back down for anything.

 _She wore a raspberry beret._

 _And if it was warm- she wouldn't wear much more._

 _Raspberry beret._

 _I think I love her._

 **A/N: PPPRRRIIINNNCCCEEE! Love him. Thank you guys so much for reading. I love it. This one might be a lot longer than I anticipated, so I hope you're happy about that. Stay chill.**

 **NJ**


	3. Still Rock and Roll to Me

Chapter Two: Still Rock and Roll to Me

 **WARNING: This will be an intense chapter. I haven't updated either story in forever because the internet was down, so I thought I'd give you guys a fluffball on "The Road Trip" (that chapter is coming, I swear!) and… well, whatever the heck you call this. Enjoy!**

 **12 Hours Earlier**

" _Fuck Swinton!" The fox screams. The crowd roars its delight. He's dressed in dark clothes, the only ornament a gold locket around his neck. It's been like this all night. The moment the four predators took the stage, the atmosphere in the small theater shifted. It was an atmosphere of change. The lead singer is quite something, a spectacle to behold. His energy seems never to shift, an unending machine of rage and life. His green eyes dance in the stage lights and the pick in his hand seems to blur as he shreds the strings of his guitar. It's a beautiful instrument. The rest of the band seems to take their energy from this fox. Their drummer, a short fennec fox with dark sunglasses over his eyes, stares intently, looking almost concerned, at the red beast._

" _What do we want?!" He shouts._

" _EQUALITY!" The crowd chants._

" _When do we want it?"_

" _NOW!"_

 _The fox looks around the stage, plays the last few notes of his solo, and falls to his knees slowly. The crowd goes quiet. Slowly, the fox look to the ground. He looks as though he's defeated. Something has beaten him. He stands again slowly, and the look in his eyes shoots through the hearts of every mammal in the room. It's a look of such intense sadness that it causes some actual pain to see it._

" _We play the International Festival in five days' time." He shouts. "Come and be with us. We would love to see each and every one of you out there. Before you leave tonight, you need to know something. If I could tell you to do one thing…"_

" _Save Rock and Roll!" The four mammals onstage chorus together._

" _Goodnight, Chipawgo! Keep yourselves safe!"_

 **6 Hours Earlier**

" _Good morning and good day to all of our viewers across the city of Chipawgo. This is Channel 6 WBAT News at 6."_

" _We'll start with some breaking news from this past night. In their final concert before the Carnival of Lights, the band calling themselves "The Warmbloods" became the center of a political storm. Recently, a large amount of shock was created when a report came out detailing that Nicholas Piberious Wilde, the band's lead singer, was evicted from Zootopia in an incredibly derogatory and discriminatory manner. In recent interviews, The Warmbloods have managed to avoid discussing the matter. Last night, however, The Warmbloods shocked their fans and the world by announcing that the report is accurate. Zootopia's government has been announcing for many days now that the report is falsified by outside sources. Wilde and the band played security footage from inside the building showing what had happened. In the tape, Wilde is called a "filthy pred" and told that his child "should burn in the hell that you interspecies freaks come from." The video was posted online, and as of press time, has over three million views."_

" _We will keep you updated on this story as it continues to unfold. Now, a word from our sponsors."_

 **Judy**

The calls started coming in at almost five in the morning. I used to enjoy sleep. Now it just haunts me, tantalizing me with the thought of rest. I'm always up at the crack of dawn, pulling on my new, shiny uniform with the badge which reads "Detective Hopps" and walking from my new, expensive apartment in the heart of Zootopia's downtown before my alarm even starts to go off. It's because I'm up this early that I'm actually able to answer the calls. I'm eating a small bowl of fruit at the kitchen counter when my phone starts to buzz. The icon on it shows that the call is from Clawhauser. I slide my finger across to answer it. _Why would he be calling this early?_

"What's up, Ben?" I say cheerfully.

"J-J-J-Judy." He chokes. I stare, openmouthed. I've rarely seen Clawhauser sad. It's a once in a lifetime occurrence.

"Ben…" I say softly. "What's wrong?" I soothe.

"N-N-Nick- Judy- I can't- I can't believe- I said- I said-." He blubbers. I freeze, standing stock still.

I've read the report. Of course I have. The report that divided the city, that's what they call it. The higher-ups think it's all bullshit. Most of the officers think it's a scheme concoted by Nick. I'm not really sure what to think.

I try not to think about Nick anymore. Whenever I think of him, I feel like I'm drowning. When I got back from training, I wanted to scream at him. He had left, however. Nobody knew why. Eventually, most people came around to the same way of thinking: he had left because he was fed up. He had- _effectively-_ run away. I tried to believe otherwise. But I couldn't find evidence of him anywhere in the city. He had vanished without a trace, and the only real way to do that is to run away.

" _Just like a fucking predator."_ One of my sisters had seethed when I'd told her the news. I'd gotten back in the dating pool since then. It was sort of nice, but sometimes I still felt slightly odd when I thought of him.

Then the report came out.

Of course, I was totally stunned to learn that The Warmbloods were alive and well in another city. I bought the report the second I saw it on the newspaper stands, but I didn't even pick it up for a while. I just stared at it. After I read it, I was very… _torn_. Torn on more levels then one. Mostly, the whole thing seemed too completely outlandish to be true. The Perfect Trifecta had never created such an insane set of bigoted rules. However, on some level I understand that I sort of want it to be fake. If it's real, it means that I screwed up one of the best mammals I've ever met, and that he ran away to save me from having to do the same. It's outlandishly noble, and I'm not sure any mammal in history would even consider doing it.

It's probably fake.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice slightly shaken.

"L-L-Last night, Judy."

"Ben, talk to me, sweetie." I say in my best calming voice. Ben's phone is shaking bad, the cheetah looks like he's going to have a stroke he's sobbing so hard. His phone vibrates slightly as he shifts it so that it's camera is facing the screen of his battered laptop. Through the camera, I can see the browser is open to a MooTube page. The title of the video is "INSANELY SPECIESIST ZOOTOPIA COPS VERBALLY HARASS NICK WILDE."

"Play it." I hear myself whisper. The mouse moves onscreen, and the video flares to life.

 _The three police officers approach the door. The security footage is slightly grainy, the edges of the hall slightly distorted. One walks forward to knock on the door. He raps sharply, the clicks of his knuckles echoing through the hall._ _A muffled voice comes from inside the apartment, and then the door opens._

 _Nick Wilde stands, one paw holding a small Arctic Fox kit. He's wearing his pajamas and looking confused. It's quite early in the morning._

" _Officer Wilde?" One of the police mammals asks. He nods slowly, eyes taking them both in. "We need to speak to you."_

" _About what?" He asks bluntly. It's the voice of a fox who has done nothing wrong, and knows it._

" _Are you in an interspecies relationship?"_

" _Damn right." The fox stands slightly, puffing his chest._

I feel my breath halt in my chest. _No, no, no, no. Stop this, Ben. Please._

I don't say anything.

" _Well, as such, we are obligated to inform you that since you are also in possession of a kit, you are in violation of the law."_

" _Wait, wait, wait." Nick holds up his paws. "Hold your horses for just a second. What law?"_

" _Zootopia Charter, Rule 703(c)." The second officer responds calmly. "Interspecies couples cannot adopt or be in possession of a kit."_

" _Oh, right, the 'perfect trifecta.'" The fox snarls. Even if he doesn't raise a single paw, the contempt in his voice hisses like boiling water._

" _Since you are in violation of that law, we're going to need to have the kit back so we can send him into the Zootopia foster care system. You will also undergo an evaluation by Mayoress Swinton herself to determine whether or not you are fit to serve in your current position in society or whether or not you need to be reassigned."_

" _Reassigned?" The fox actually sounds genuinely shocked now._

 _The police officer who has been standing back for this conversation snaps visibly. He's a vast, wild looking cow. He walks forward and lashes out, slamming his right paw into Nick's jaw, felling him like a dead tree. The two officers off to the side avert their eyes slightly, watching the cow as he tries to rip the kit from Wilde's arms._

" _Give me the child!" He shouts. Wilde stands slowly, using the wall for support. He's bleeding badly from the side of his face._

" _What the fuck?" He whispers._

This can't be real. This has to be a fake.

" _Here's the deal, you filthy pred." the cow officer spits in his face. "You can either give us the child, leave your job, and pay a twenty five thousand dollar fine,_ _ **or**_ _you can get the hell out of this city."_

" _You can't make me."_

" _Actually, under the new law we can." The cow growls. "We can make sure that you can never speak to anyone you love again. We can make you run from this city. We can make sure that kit burns in the hell that you interspecies freaks come from."_

" _I'll run." He murmurs._

" _You'll never make it." One of the other officers laughs loudly. "It's a deadly world out there, and you've got nothing."_

 _Nick stares at him for a while. Slowly, he nods his head._

" _Give me the eviction papers as soon as possible." He whispers. Blood drips onto the floor below. "I'll leave."_

 _The screen is overtaken by static. Slowly, the image of a fox in a gas mask appears on the screen._

" _We made it." A picture appears on the screen. A fox, thin and worn. He looks as though he hasn't eaten in a week. On his shoulders is a small Arctic Fox kit. The picture fades to white, replaced with the logo for the Carnival of Lights._

 _The video ends._

 **Nick**

My paws have started to bleed again. They do this every once in a while. It's what comes with no lotion and constant guitar playing. Slowly, the pads on my fingers have become scarred and torn, to the point where sometimes I'm a little surprised just to look at them.

I'm sitting in the park, my acoustic guitar hooked up to a set of speakers. I'm sitting on the side of a large stone wall which circles an elaborate fountain. It's fairly early in the morning. Erica volunteered to take Max off my paws for the day (she sort of forced me into it) and when she did it, she told me to take a day off. Finnick and James are at a media event talking about the festival, and Henry is (probably) still asleep. I didn't have any idea what I was going to do, so I headed into downtown so I could do something. I saw the park and decided on the spur of the moment that I would play acoustic guitar for a bit.

Acoustic is more relaxing. Anyone who can play acoustic guitar well is someone who should be respected as a musician. With electric guitars, the distortion can cover up mistakes, and if you're enthusiastic enough, nobody will care if you're any good. With acoustic guitar, it's just you and the music, and that's hard. My paws fly across the fingerboard as I strum almost without thinking.

" _You only hold me up like this, 'cuz you don't know who I really am. Sometimes I just- want to know what it's like- to be you."_ I never sing with anything less than full effort anymore. It's like I'm a kit on the streets of Zootopia again, and the music is the only thing keeping me from shooting drugs and robbing banks.

"Excuse me." A nervous looking red fox has stepped from the crowd. Her face is worn, and she's much older than me. However, she looks absolutely terrified to be speaking to me.

"May I help you?" I ask. There's no sarcasm in my voice. That part of me only comes out when speaking to friends and family, oddly enough.

"My daughter wanted an autograph. I don't suppose…" She freezes for a second. "You _are_ Nick Wilde, right?"

I had someone tell me once that first autographs are always strange. I dismissed that. I knew that I would never have to sign an autograph because, of course, I would never be known publicly as a Warmblood. That's changed now. I am the face of a band facing a gigantic task. I sign my name on a pristine white shirt bearing the fox in the gas mask logo using the pen the woman hands me.

"You're a hero, you know." She murmurs as I cap the pen and offer it back to her.

"I'm not a hero, I'm a martyr. Two very different things." I correct gently.

"You went down for a cause. That makes you a hero." The fox insists stubbornly. I sigh. "Thousands of mammals see what you did and understand that the world can change."

I feel something bend inside of me, bend almost to the snapping point. "The world didn't change because of what I did."

"It's going to."

My jaw locks. I know that she's trying to be helpful. I've never been around someone who's believed so firmly that what I did will have lasting effects. I'm not sure I want it to have any effect at all. If I'm perfectly honest with myself, I think I know that I did what I did out of anger. However, it only succeeded in making me more angry. I feel a terrible urge to scream loudly, but push it down inside of me.

"Tell your daughter that her support means a lot." I say, my voice tight and higher than normal. I grab my guitar with rather more force than is necessary, and sit back down on the wall. The vixen vanishes. I'm not sorry to see the back of her. _Keep the darkness at bay, Nicky boy. Judy isn't here to do it for you. You've gotta do it for yourself. For Max. For the band._

 _For Judy._

"You guys have been really wonderful." I say. "This one goes out to everybody here who has lost someone dear to them." I place my fingers down, feeling the tension of the strings beneath my pads, and slide into the chords.

" _Walking out into the dark, cutting out a different path, led by a beating heart!"_ My voice sounds much more powerful with nothing behind it. " _All the people of the town, cast their eyes right to the ground- in matters of the heart!_ Clap for me!" I slam my fist into the side of my guitar in time to the beat, the crowd picking it up and beginning to clap with the sound of the beat.

" _The night was all you had, you ran into the night- from all- you had."_ I wrote these lyrics only recently, and yet I can see through myself. I'm shouting at myself, scolding myself for running away from her. Some part of me understands. " _Found yourself a path upon the ground, you ran into the night- you can't be found."_

 _But._

" _This! Is your heart!"_ I cry. " _Can you feel it? Can you feel it? Pumps through your veins! Can you feel it? Can you feel it?"_

 _This is your aching heart._

 _Can you feel it?_

 _Can you feel it?_

 **A/N: THE INTERNET WENT DOWN AT MY PLACE. I'M SORRY AAAAAAGH. Seriously though, I'm thinking of starting a Tumblr. I might post some of my OC stuff there, assuming anyone would read it. Stay awesome.**

 **NJ**


	4. Carnival of Lights (Bang Bang)

Chapter 3: Carnival of Lights (Part One)

" _Maybe it's not my weekend, but it's gonna be my year! And I'm so sick of watching while the minutes pass as I go nowhere! This is my reaction- to everything I fear- I've been going crazy, I don't wanna waste another minute- here."_

"Not bad…" Finnick says slowly, as the sounds from the guitars fade to simple white noise. "For a bunch of dudes who have to play a career threatening concert in twelve hours."

Henry snorts. "Damn straight."

James fingers the neck of his instrument nervously. "Are we actually going to do this? Apparently the show has been sold out for weeks now."

"Yeah, we're going to do it." I smile faintly. "We're going to rock."

There's a pause, and I break the silence by hitting a few chords and standing back up, alert once more.

"So." I clap my paws together. "The set list." We all know it by heart, of course, but it won't hurt to run over it one last time. "We open with _Sixteen Camels."_

" _Sixteen Camels, Weightless, Raspberry Beret, Where Did the Party Go, Zootopian Rhapsody, See The Light, Bellwether's Inferno, Mr. Brightside, Foxes of Suburbia."_ Finnick says in a monotone, looking up at the ceiling and releasing a long, nervous breath. " _Foxes of Suburbia…"_

"I know, I know." I hold my hands up as the others turn to look at me. "You have to trust me. We will be able to play it."

"Nick, it's insanely difficult." Finnick says slowly. "I mean, not for me, because I don't have to play guitar solos, but at the same time, man, we sweat through our paws! There will be a point where you can't hit the notes anymore."

"It's less a concern that we'll be able to play it," Henry shrugs, "and more that you'll be able to finish it, man."

"Just trust me, alright?" I say sharply. "I know what I'm doing." Another pause. "I think."

There's a little laughter at this, and I have to give a smile. I feel strangely happy here. I don't know why. Generally, the only time I feel truly content is when I'm with Max, and we're sitting on a park bench, he's asleep on my shoulder and I am both alone in the city and very much together with the kit. I think that my happiness might be terror of the concert condensing. It's the first concert that I've actually been nervous for in a long time. We could conceivably ruin our entire careers if we screw up this concert. I don't think that's going to happen. There's always a chance, though.

"When does the bus get here?" Finnick asks.

"Soon." Henry says. "What's the schedule once we get there?"

"We check in and then we essentially wander the festival until five, when we have to be backstage again for the final audio checks and band tuning." I list from the top of my head.

"No masks?" James doesn't look up.

"No masks." I say, without hesitation.

"Apparently the show is getting streamed around the world." Finnick says carefully.

"I'm sure it is." My voice is the epitome of nonchalance.

"Does that mean we should pull the visuals?" Henry speaks up quietly.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I give a real smile. I straighten up slightly and look Henry directly in the eye.

"Pull no punches, right?" I ask.

"Yeah." He says uncertainly.

"Save rock and roll?"

"Definitely."

"Then we don't pull anything." I say defiantly. "Let them see what they want to see. Our job is not to fuck everything up tonight."

"Bus is here." James says suddenly.

"Grab your stuff." I bark. "Let's rock."

 **Judy**

I don't bother to change out of my uniform. I have places to be and things to do.

As the subway moves rapidly through the city, I browse the site I spent all of yesterday and most of today trying to find. In order to actually find it, I had to go through multiple firewalls set up to prevent the citizens of the city from interacting with terrorist groups and other forces on the outside. This includes blocking off access to one of the most violent cities in the world- Chipawgo.

It took me a while to find the Carnival of Lights website. When I did, however, it was easy enough to find Nick.

Oh god, Nick.

The Warmbloods' website had been set up by someone who was clearly not a member of the band- this was obvious because the site was well organized, easy to navigate, and incredibly informative. The header of the page was a picture of the band with a large, ruined building behind them. Finnick, Henry and James look the same as I remember them. Nick, however, looks different. His fur has grown slightly darker, and his face is leaner, as though he hasn't eaten. His arms are all fur and muscle, and the look on his face has no humor. It's the look of a prisoner of war.

The site is littered with videos from late night and talk shows, featuring Nick and occasionally the full band. The more I peruse the website, the more evident it becomes that the city of Chipawgo has something of a thing for Nick Wilde. On talk shows, he's both funny and melancholy, a combination which no other mammal would even have a chance of pulling off.

As the subway pulls into my station, I stand and wait behind hippo who towers over me for the doors to open. I look down at my phone again. It's playing a clip of Nick at a small club show in downtown Chipawgo.

" _All the rookies leave your badge and your gun on the desk when you leave the room…"_

The doors open and I step out into the frigid Tundratown air.

" _I'm a loose bolt- of a complete machine."_

"What a match." I whisper, barely even conscious that I'm doing it. "I'm half doomed, and you're semi-sweet."

Clawhauser's apartment sits at the top floor of a fairly modest apartment building near the center of Tundratown. The walk itself is barely five minutes, but to me it feels like an eternity as more clips of Nick play, his voice echoing in my ears.

" _Mr. Wilde,"_ The voice of a talk show host is quiet compared to Nick's echoing silence, " _Do you miss Zootopia?"_

" _I miss it, but sometimes I don't think it misses me."_

" _How is your child?"_

" _He's my nephew, and if I'm going to have to raise him I'm not sure how he's going to turn out."_

I climb the stairs of the building in silence. When I reach the top floor, I knock twice, slowly. The door opens immediately, and Clawhauser looks down at me.

"Come in." He motions quickly. I walk inside, and he shuts the door behind me.

His apartment is neat and tidy, with only slight traces that it's not a model for a magazine of some kind. The front door leads directly into a small hallway which transitions almost seamlessly into the living room. The television is already on.

I've come here because Clawhauser is a television connoisseur. While that may sound insane, there's a perfectly valid reason for that to be my motivation. To be an expert of all television shows, he spends an almost obscene amount of money on a cable deal which allows him to get channels from almost all the major companies. One of those companies (FOX) has purchased the right to livestream the Carnival of Lights.

"Is it on?" I ask.

"Yeah." His voice lacks its normal peppiness. He looks tired. I know that he feels guilty about what happened. I can't say that I blame him. A lot of our fellow officers walked into the bullpen after that video came out looking as though they'd seen a ghost.

Without another word, the two of us walk towards the living room. I stare, transfixed, at the television, which is streaming video of a cheerful reporter standing on a stage so large it looks like someone cut out a piece of a great black mountain of speakers and screens and moved it into the middle of a field.

" _The main stage has been set up to the most exact specifications that the members of the band could ask for."_ The reporter, a cheerful lynx, intones. " _It was Nick Wilde who asked for his guitar to be hooked up to the red speakers inside of the crowd."_ She gestures out into the empty field, where large, cylindrical red speakers sit like strange boulders. " _The Warmbloods have often faced problems with converting their distorted, grungy sound into something which the crowd can listen to. Wilde says that these speakers within the mob itself may reduce the amount of people who- and I'm quoting the Warmblood's drummer, Finnick, here- "can't hear Nick's kick-ass f*cking solos. The Warmbloods will take the stage in one hour, and the doors are officially open to the main stage arena. Fans are already lined up, ready to enter the pavilion."_

"You sure about this?" Clawhauser's voice breaks me from my reverie. "We don't have to watch it… if you don't think you can."

"I have to." My voice is oddly fractured. "Can I sit down?"

"Yeah, you can."

Silently, we turn our attentions back to the screen, waiting silently, statues in a newly broken city.

"You're all set, Mr. Wilde." The tech claps the neck of my guitar. "That power pack is fully charged and ready to go, and we'll turn the speakers on once you get on the stage."

"Thanks." I give a single, terse nod, and the tech walks from the room. I sit in one of the minimalistic chairs, looking at my reflection in the shining gloss of the guitar. I'm wearing a faded _This is What Remains_ tee shirt, both of my paws are taped. I have three picks in each of my pockets, and I'm wearing boots emblazoned with the Warmblood logo. My locket, with my picture of Judy within, is around my neck.

I guess I should feel nervous. My mind goes back to when I saw the mainstage for the first time earlier today.

" _Is the main stage legitimately terrifying to anyone else?" Finnick asks._

" _Just you, I think." I lied through my teeth. We had just gotten off the bus. Finnick had been arranging how the stage would look for months, but this was our first time seeing it._

 _I could see the strobes and paint guns set up already, the great, powerful backdrop of a fox in a gas mask holding a dead mammal in his paws, great golden words emblazoned over the logo._

 _SAVE ROCK AND ROLL_

I rise, in a dreamlike state. I walk from the room into the backstage area. Finnick, James, and Henry are all waiting for me there. I have a sudden, powerful pang of longing for Zootopia as I remember the first time we met after we broke up for the first time. It was a lot like this.

No words need to be said. The four of us exchange looks and, together, walk out onto the stage.

The lights are off, and the crowd can't see us as we slip silently onto the dark platform. I walk to the font of the stage, kneel, and wait.

The screens light up.

Giant words, written in jarring white font, glimmer on the screens.

 _YOU WERE BORN TO CHANGE THE WORLD._

The lights turn on, and I hear a thunderous roar, one which vibrates through my whole body. I walk forward, as though in a dream, and take the mic.

"1,2,3,4!"

End of Part One

 **A/N**

 **IM NOT DEAD GUYZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZz**

 **Pretty close though tbph**

 **Seriously though, I know this took an absolutely obscene amount of time. It didn't actually take this long to write, but I've had internet troubles etc. Weekly updates are resuming as of right now. Part Two of this chapter will be out much much sooner than this one was. I'm so sorry about the delay.**

 **Assuming you're still reading, thank you for sticking with me. It means the world.**

 **NJ**


	5. Chapter 5: The Phoenix

Chapter 5: The Phoenix

Nick

I'm sitting alone in the café, watching the rain come down outside the long glass wall. Finnick, James, and Henry are all in various states of sleep, and since none of them were up by noon, I figured I would go and get a late afternoon scone in a hole in the wall shop near downtown.

I've kept my phone off since last night. It was actually James who suggested this, and I determined that it would probably be a good idea. I've managed to avoid any news about our performance- good or bad- since it actually occurred. I don't want to stress myself out. No use worrying over something that already happened.

I rub my paw absentmindedly along the countertop, only partially thinking about where I am. From behind me, I hear the hissing of the espresso machine, mixed faintly with the soothing noises of voices and of the door opening.

"I'll have black coffee. No milk, no sugar- well, actually, perhaps one sugar."

I turn around, leaning around the chair to see the source of the voice. The sound of that voice has struck something odd. I feel as though I've heard it before.

Standing near the counter, oblivious to me, is a large cape buffalo. One of his ears is slightly nicked, and his gravelly voice is cool and collected. My heart stops.

 _Chief Bogo._

I stand sharply, not thinking about anyone in the room. Without pausing, I walk up behind the buffalo.

"Nice jacket." I say. "You got a badge with that tone of voice?"

Bogo freezes dead. His shoulders rise and fall only slightly.

"I thought I would have to look all over the damn city for you." He growls. "Apparently I'm not that lucky."

"Afraid not."

Bogo raises himself up, coffee in paw, and surveys me. He is virtually unchanged, from his broad shoulders to those powerful limbs.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

"Don't talk to me like that." He hisses.

"You aren't my boss anymore." I smirk. "I think I'll take whatever tone I please."

"I see that at least your attitude remains in its former condition." He responds, scanning me up and down.

"Cheers to that!" I say. "Your police force can't beat up my attitude."

Bogo sighs. My words have hit home.

"I have come to find you because I need to talk to you." Bogo says. "However illegal it may be, we have to talk."

"You?" I say, taking a step forward. "You- the CHIEF of POLICE- want to talk to me?"

"Outside." He mutters. Without looking at me, he heads to the door. Almost against my better judgement, I follow.

Outside, Bogo leads me around the building to a small lawn in front of a law office. I stand still and wait.

"I've come here because you need to be told a few things." Bogo says. "First and foremost: what you are doing, whether it is planned or unplanned, is working. You are inspiring thousands to resist the Perfect Trifecta, and I am here to formally apologize for the way that you had to leave Zootopia."

"It's fine." I brush it off. I'm not saying this because it is- but now that Bogo is here, I understand fully that it isn't his fault. He didn't do this to me. "Thank you for saying that."

"Second," he breathes in, as though steeling himself for what he is about to say, "you have been invited back to Zootopia formally. All of your band members received a phone call as well."

The world is spinning. _Is it true? Can I go back?_

 _Can I see Judy?_

"No catch?" I ask, panting slightly.

"You would have to leave the cub here." Bogo says quietly.

Reality comes back, harder than rock. I grit my teeth. _Damn it._

"Nope." I shake my muzzle, hard. "Nope, no way, not going to happen."

Bogo grimaces. "I'm sorry, Nick."

"Anything else, Chief?" I ignore his previous statement.

"Yes." He glances around. "I was not told to say this, but you should know." He glances around again, and leans in. "Judy Hopps is currently scheduled to go on vacation in Bunnyburrow. From there, she will become a CSI in another city, one that I do not know."

I stare at him, blankly.

"Wilde, listen to me." He grabs my shoulders. "If you still love her, you have one chance. You have to find her while she's in Bunnyburrow or you blow your shot. She's going to leave Zootopia for two years- at the least- and you will have no way to find her."

"You want me," I hesitate, "to walk into Bunnyburrow?"

"I don't 'WANT' you to do anything." He clarifies. "I am telling you something that I think you should know, and not because I like you, but because I don't think Hopps is going to get a rabbit who can treat her better than you can."

"God, you sound like you're her dad!"

"I practically am, Wilde."

"Fair enough."

Bogo sighs again, looking down at me. "Apparently you and your band blew the world away again last night."

"I wouldn't know. I've been intentionally avoiding the media."

Bogo gives me an odd look. "You might want to avoid the back of the café, then."

I blink. I came in through the back of the café initially. This seems odd.

"Lord, Wilde." He chuckles. "I miss you on the force."

"Miss you too, Chief."

He looks me over again. "Want me to take a message?"

"Yeah." I pause, trying to think of the right words. "Tell Clawhauser I'm going to send him some donuts. They've got great ones here."

Bogo smiles faintly. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." I look down at the ground, breathe in, and speak. "Tell Judy I love her."

"I will." He nods. We stand there together, as the sounds of traffic echo in the distance.

"Take care of yourself, Nick."

"I will."

I can't look at him as he turns away and begins to walk back down the street. I turn on the balls of my foot and head back towards the café. I pull my phone out of my pocket and press the power button. I feel it vibrate as it begins to turn on.

"THERE HE IS!"

I turn, and see a mob of reporters, cameras, and mics swarming towards me. I grit my teeth, put on a smile, and turn into the glare.

 _ **Guess who?**_

 _ **NJ**_


End file.
